


The Warlord's Prize: Got Wood? Stick it up Your Bum

by Badfish _original porn be warned_ (FishPanda)



Series: The Warlord and His Prince (AKA that orc/elf noncon no one but me wanted) [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Bondage, Crying During Sex, Edgeplay, Forced Orgasm, Large Cock, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Object Insertion, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painful Sex, Rape, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, improvised cock rings, rapists in love is probably a good tag, this could probably count as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishPanda/pseuds/Badfish%20_original%20porn%20be%20warned_
Summary: On to part number three: in today’s installment of “let’s torture the elf,” the warlord thinks his captive isn’t showing enough appreciation for all those totes amazeballs nonconsensual orgasms he’s being given. So he comes up with a lesson intended to teach his little prince how to be more grateful. Due to differences in biology, that lesson ends up a little more… intense than the orc intended.
Relationships: Orc Warlord/Captured Elf Prince
Series: The Warlord and His Prince (AKA that orc/elf noncon no one but me wanted) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063046
Comments: 16
Kudos: 119





	The Warlord's Prize: Got Wood? Stick it up Your Bum

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I really went there with the title. Someone shoot me.

As the weeks passed, Llianderin found himself settling into a routine, proving that the mind could grow used to anything no matter how horrible given enough time. Every morning, the warlord woke him with his tongue, or his fingers, or his cock. Afterwards, he would wipe Lllianderin down and dress him, and as the elf sat and broke his fast, the warlord would brush his hair until it gleamed and do it up in ever more complicated braids.

At night, after they made camp, the warlord would unravel Llianderin’s braids until his hair fell down his back in waves, and then stretch him open and fuck him again, sometimes more than once. He always wrung at least two orgasms from the prince’s trembling body; every few days he decided he wanted a third, and the effort always left Lliandering a sobbing, shaking, sweaty mess, so exhausted that he slipped into unconsciousness even before the orc’s cock slipped out.

He never quite got used to the warlord’s enormous size; no matter how well he was prepared, there was always that edge of pain, that burning stretch as Llianderin’s body struggled to accommodate the huge cock thrust within. But his captor became more and more adapt at wringing reluctant completion from him, licking between his ass cheeks and mouthing at his nipples and petting at his ears, that the haze of pleasure became a shameful companion despite Lliandering’s remaining revulsion and hatred of the orc himself.

In between the times spent being bedded or sleeping, the elf found himself bundled into furs and between the warlord’s arms as they both rode his massive battle warg. The creature was even more hideous than the orcs themselves, like a cross between a mutilated bear and a wolf, huge misshapen snout full of razor-sharp fangs the length of Llianderin’s fingers, a shaggy coarse coat that seemed to cover a body that was too much shoulders and not enough leg. The first time the warlord brought him near one, Llianderin only got on it because he was forced to, but since then he has become accustomed to the ride though no less wary of the creature. Its gait was surprisingly smooth considering its mismatched appearance, and it covered great distances with speed despite its short legs, carrying the warlord easily regardless of his towering bulk. 

Llianderin both looked forward to and dreaded this time in between. It offered him fresh air and glimpses of the world outside the tent; about a week after his capture, they left what used to be Syh Esaryia behind and crossed into the lands of men, and he stopped having to close his eyes every time they passed a burned village. There were far less signs of damage here despite the orc army having passed this route on its way to Syh Esaryia. They stayed away from the settlements, but once in a while the elf saw people in the distance. To his surprise, they did not run away, though they all seemed tense and unhappy as they watched the orcs march past. Even more surprising were the gifts left along the road: barrels full of ale and salted meat and fish, sacks of grain and potatoes and cabbages, bushels of apples and pears. 

Seeing him looking, the warlord explained it was tribute, left to feed the orc army as they passed so they would not be tempted to raid the villages. “These lands have been taken some years ago. Their current kings have sworn fealty to me, and in exchange for a monthly tribute we do not raid them any longer, and protect their borders from other would-be conquerors.” Some days ago he had developed the habit of caressing the points of Llianderin’s ears as he spoke to him during their rides, and the elf could not suppress his shiver at the touch to one of his most erogenous zones; the heated look the orc sent him in response showed he was fully aware of the effect of his touches. 

“It deprives my warriors of some sport, but there are always more lands to be conquered and more prizes to be won,” the orc added, a pointed statement, and abruptly even the faint heat Llianderin felt from his touch cooled as he was reminded just how much lost to the monster behind him. His ability to arouse the elf’s body was just another one in a long line of offenses committed.

The warriors riding nearby laughed nastily. They were the reason Llianderin dreaded his times out of the warlord’s tent. None of them ever tried to touch him, but it seemed the warlord had no problem with the way they leered at him and stripped him naked with their eyes. The fact that most of them had seen him naked on the day of his capture, and worse, had seen him bent over and fucked by an orc and reach his completion from it, just gave fire to their humiliating and demeaning comments. The warlord laughed appreciatively every time one of his warriors commented on how sweet Llianderin’s nipples must taste, or how tight his ass must be still, or how he must love being stuffed full of orc cock at all times, considering his display at the hall and the sounds coming from the tent each morning and night.

Their leers made Llianderin attempt to silence himself each time, biting down on his hand or the bedding. And every time, the warlord would threaten to tie his hands if he didn’t behave himself, would pound into him all that much harder until Llianderin’s wails could be heard by everyone nearby. Every time someone commented on it, his tormentor seemed to swell up even larger with a sort of smug pride.

Not everyone seemed to take Llianderin’s presence with a sort of gleeful humor, however. Though the orc forces pillaged Syh Esaryia’s riches and were carrying gold and jewels and finely-wrought weapons back with them by the cartload, Llianderin was the only living prize obtained during the campaign, and the elf could tell many of the orcs resented their king’s refusal to share. The way the warlord seemed to almost dote on the elf, in his own twisted way – giving him first pick of the tribute over the warriors, bundling him up even further when the temperature dropped, petting his hair almost gently as the elf nodded off against his chest during the ride – seemed to set off unpleasant whispers among the rabble.

Llianderin knew none would challenge his captor openly. He had seen the way they treated the warlord, with a mix of respect, admiration, and abject fear; there was not an orc among the army who could hope to best him. But he also knew that should he stray one step from the warlord’s side, disappear from his sight for a single moment, his fate would not be pleasant. He didn’t exactly feel safe with the warlord – the creature was forcing himself on Llianderin several times a day and making it clear he gave no consideration to the prince’s own will or consent. But he was, for lack of a better word, somewhat enamored, and the prince knew the warlord would at least attempt not to cause any lasting physical damage.

The question was, how long before that protection expired? The minute the warlord would tire of him, Llianderin knew he was done for. That was why he knew he would need to find a way to escape, and soon.

His urgency to get away only grew stronger around three weeks after his capture, when the warlord woke him not with questing fingers but with the promise of a gift. The look on his face made it clear it was the sort of gift only the orc himself would find enjoyable. When he produced a long silk ribbon and some sort of ridged, uneven stick that seemed to flare at one side, though, the elf was left confused.

He held himself still as the warlord pulled him out from under the covers and arranged him on his back, knees pressed to his chest and spread wide, exposing his soft cock, his balls and his hole, still somewhat reddened and wet from last night. The first two weeks he fought and kicked, but experience taught him that it was better to lay still as the orc prepared him, otherwise he would sometimes abandon his plans for a thorough stretching and thrust himself into Llianderin after only two fingers. He never managed to stop himself from trying to get away once the orc was in him, but that only seemed to amuse his captor.

This time, though, instead of inserting an oiled finger or his tongue into Llianderin, the warlord picked up the ribbon and started to wind it around the elf’s balls and cock. The prince immediately started flailing, kicking out at the orc and attempting to bring his legs down and close them. “What are you doing!?” he shrieked.

“Stay still!” the orc ordered irately and swatted at his ass, the sound a sharp crack in the otherwise quiet air; fiery pain started spreading across Llianderin’s buttocks. He shouted but kept squirming. The orc obviously needed two hands for whatever he was trying to do, but was currently using one to hoist both of the elf’s ankles up in the air. 

A second later Llianderin had a mouthful of fur. The orc had flipped him on his belly, tucking the elf’s knees under his armpits and restraining his twisting torso between his knees. Llianderin found himself unable to move anything but his arms – his awkward backward hits at the warlord’s thighs must have felt like a fly swatting a horse – and his feet down from the ankles. The way the orc’s huge, rigid erection pressed into his upper torso made breathing uncomfortable, and the smell of precum from where the head was pinned between his nipples was making him gag in phantom memory. Worse of all, his ass was now completely in the air, his cock and balls on display right in front of the warlord’s face, and he was making quick work of the ribbon. 

Within a minute, his balls were wrapped up tightly at their base. The feeling was unpleasant but not painful, like a pinch, and strangely was almost like what he felt when his balls were drawing close to his body in the moment before he spent his seed. The wrapping around the base of his cock was more unsettling, the pressure an alien sensation. 

“There, that wasn’t so terrible, was it?” The orc asked mockingly, giving a little tweak to the head of Llianderin’s cock and laughing at his yell. He then moved to caress the burning skin of the elf’s ass, his normally hot hands a cool relief against the reddened skin. 

“Do you know what I just did, my little prince? Hmm? I noticed you don’t really seem to appreciate all the wonderful orgasms I keep giving you. So this pretty ribbon –“ he tugged at the silk, the sudden tightening pulling a whimper from the restrained elf “– will keep you from coming until I’ve decided you’ve earned it. You will still be able to get aroused – in fact, while blood will still flow into your beautiful little cock the ribbon will stop it from going back out, so I expect you will spend most of this day hard as a rock – but your balls just won’t be able to empty themselves. And it will stay this way, until I have decided you have begged enough.” 

Llianderin panted in horror, already starting to feel his cock fill out from the little touches the orc was lavishing on his ass, genitals, and hole. “Please don’t!” he begged, the sound muffled since his face was still pressed into the beddings. “I want to come – I do appreciate it –" 

Another hard smack silenced him, left him gasping heavily into the covers as renewed fire engulfed his backside. “Sly little prince; don’t lie to me. You are speaking out of fear. But soon enough you will be speaking out of desperation – perhaps you will even feel a fraction of what you make me endure every minute I am awake and in your presence.”

“Now, we don’t have much time, the camp is already being packed up and soon we will be on the move. You look absolutely lovely like this – your little hole is winking at me temptingly – but if I fuck you now you will be too loose for the second part of your gift. So we will both have to conquer our impatience and wait for this evening.”

He then reached out and held the stick Llianderin glimpsed earlier near the elf’s face. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

The elf blinked wetly, looking at the wooden object; it was around eight inches in length, and throughout most of its body it was the thickness of perhaps two of the orc’s fingers, though it was ridged strangely and unevenly. Around an inch and a half from one edge, it started to flare out, ending in a flat dome some five inches wide. Its other side had a little bulb at the end, almost like a head on a doll. He stared at it incomprehensively.

“Poor little sheltered prince, what boring sex lives you elves must lead,” the warlord chuckled. “This, my lovely, is going in you. And it will stay in you all day, pressed tight against your spot, until we are back again in this tent. And then we will see how ready you are to truly beg.”

No matter who much Llianderin screamed and cried and thrashed, he was truly restrained by the warlord. Even clenching his ass cheeks only proved a temporary hindrance. Too soon, the oiled wood was sliding into him, its ridges catching on Llianderin’s insides and making him whimper and shudder in protest. The flared end settled against his entrance like a stopper in a bottle.

The warlord released the sobbing elf from between his knees, immediately gathering him into his arms and smoothing his tangled hair. “Hush, my little prince. It is not as bad as you are making it to be. It is not even half as big as me.”

It wasn’t, even though it felt unforgivingly hard inside him in a way that the orc’s cock never did; but the way it shifted and pressed within him was too strange, and the threat of the situation itself was overwhelming all his senses. Already, he wanted to come.

“Now, how about you put on your clothes and eat, and I will take care of this little mess you created?” the orc asked, tugging at a few silky strands. 

Llianderin dressed and ate in a daze as the orc ran a brush through his hair and started braiding it. Almost his entire attention was on his bound genitals and the rigid toy inside him, which made sitting even more uncomfortable than his burning ass did. He hardly even noticed as the warlord wrapped the furs around him and lifted him up in his arms. As soon as the warg started moving, however, its steady gait caused the toy to start moving inside him, scraping against his prostate at maddeningly random intervals. 

Ten minutes into the ride, Llianderin’s cock was fully hard. Twenty minutes later, he started sweating and whimpering. The warlord caught his wrists as soon he pushed his hands towards his groin, intending to relieve the pressure.

“Do I need to bind your hands as well?” he asked Llianderin in a low voice. “Everything stays in its place until we make camp. If you can’t behave by yourself, I’ll help you behave.”

“Please take it out,” Llianderin whimpered.

The warlord stroked his temple where the fine hairs were starting to stick to the skin. “You haven’t even started earning it, lovely. Keep your hands where I can see them, or I’ll tie them up.”

Llianderin learned a lot about pain and humiliation in the weeks since he was taken, but the ride that day was the worst experience of his life, even worse than the night his people were slaughtered and his captor had taken him for the first time bent over his dead father’s throne. An hour or two into the ride he started crying, not even coherent enough to notice or care about the reactions of the other warriors surrounding them.

“What’s up with your pet?” one of the nearby chieftains asked. “Why is he making those noises?” 

Llianderin felt the warlord caress his cheek where it peeked above the furs. “I’m teaching him a lesson he doesn’t enjoy being taught. For his sake, I hope he is a quick learner, or we will repeat the lesson tomorrow.”

**********

By the time the sky darkened and the army stopped for the night, the orc warriors had developed between them several dozen theories about what lesson it was that their king was trying to teach his pet, each theory more depraved and lecherous than the next. Fortunately for Llianderin, he wasn’t in any state to actually comprehend any of the ideas they were tossing his captor’s way. Less fortunately, it was because he was in such a state that all he could think about, all his world had narrowed to, was the pressure in his balls and in his cock. Every shift on the warg sent bolts of electricity through his body, every brush of his engorged cock against the silk of his shift was agony. When the warlord picked him up, the press of his arms around Llianderin made him writhe as though his entire body was on fire.

“I admit, I may have underestimated the effect this little game would have on you,” he vaguely heard the warlord say when he was brought into the tent and laid on the beddings. His fur cocoon was opened, and the orc was uncurling him gently but insistently and tugging his shift up his stomach until it bunched under his armpits. The touch of those huge fingers made him twitch as though each caused a dry orgasm, and the rush of cool air on his burning skin made him shiver so hard it felt like a seizure.

“Look at you…” he heard murmured above him. “So red and stiff, I’ve never seen you this hard.” A touch to the tip of his cock made him spasm so forcefully his back and pelvis cleared the furs for a second, a thin scream forcing its way out of a throat that was almost completely wracked from crying.

“Please… please… I need, I need to –“ Llianderin couldn’t manage to get his thoughts in order. He knew there was something important he needed to say, but what it was escaped him.

“Hush, I know exactly what you need, little prince. You’ve more than earned it.” 

Fingers touched around Llianderin’s rim before they grasped the toy and tugged; the drag of it against his walls as it came out sent him thrashing so hard he felt the orc place a palm on his stomach to stabilize him. His voice died halfway through as his vocal cords completely gave out, but he continued to scream silently, tears streaming down his face and wetting the furs.

He felt his pelvis being lifted and placed on the warlord’s thighs, and then he was pushing inside Llianderin steadily, the girth of his cock stretching abused walls that had never been this raw, not even that first morning after, his coarse pubic hair abrasive against the elf’s bruised rim. With no voice and no strength, the most the prince could do was shake his head in denial and twitch his hand toward his cock. His still bound, excruciatingly blood-swollen, agonizingly throbbing cock.

“Soon, lovely, soon. Just bear it a little bit longer. I want you to come together with me,” the orc grunted, petting at Llianderin’s flank with one hand while using the other to hold him in place as he pushed into him again and again, his huge, heavy balls slapping the elf’s ass with each thrust. “I am so close; I had to listen to you moan and cry so beautifully all day and smell your desire without being able to do anything about it.”

A minute later – or maybe it was 10 minutes, or an hour, or a day – the orc grunted and shoved deep into him, scrambling to untie the ribbon holding the elf’s genitals hostage even as he flooded the elf’s insides with a torrent of hot come.

Llianderin… came undone. As the pressure in his cock and balls burst, his body went completely taut, clamping down on the cock still inside him so hard he managed to wring a second, weaker orgasm from the orc. The elf’s eyes rolled back in his head, his spine curving like a bow as fire raged throughout his body, consuming every nerve ending.

Unable to handle the feeling, he blacked out.

**********

Clawing his way back to consciousness felt like fighting his way upstream a raging river as the current attempted to drag him under. His head throbbed. His limbs felt completely boneless and at the same time so heavy he could not even twitch a finger. His lower body was beyond sore. He cracked an eye open and immediately closed it again; even the dim torch light hurt. 

“Welcome back, little prince.”

As Llianderin became more aware, he realized he was lying on the orc’s chest, his cheekbone mushed against the orc’s muscled shoulder. The orc’s huge hand was sweeping gently up and down his body. Every few seconds, his fingers tweaked Llianderin’s nipple or prodded lightly at his entrance, and every time he did so, Llianderin’s cock gave a painful little twitch, as though it was still attempting to come. He moaned weakly in protest.

“You are a wonder, lovely,” the orc said, and Llianderin felt his voice rumble through the broad chest under him. “I think you came four times more, after you blacked out. I didn’t even have to force them out of you; I simply slipped my fingers inside you and your cock spurted again. Even now, two hours later, it is still trying to get hard.” As if to demonstrate, he pushed two fingers inside once more, scratching lightly at the elf’s swollen gland; instead of a scream, all the elf managed to produce was a hoarse whisper of “no more, no more, it hurts…”

Llianderin panted harshly as the orc’s fingernails caught on his extremely tender rim when he pulled out, but the warlord acquiesced, bringing his hand up instead to run his fingers through the elf’s hair.

“I think we made real progress today,” the warlord murmured as he arranged the furs around Llianderin’s shoulders and settled him more securely on his chest. “All your releases until now have been reluctant, I could tell. You fought them, and me, every step of the way. But you will learn, my beautiful little prince, that every lover who has ever touched you before me was but a pale shadow of what I will light up within you. No matter how long you will live, no one will ever be able to bring you to the heights of pleasure I will wring from your body. These past few weeks have been just the start.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the warlord and his captive prince are not really on the same page when it comes to their shared future together. Who do you think will be proven right in the end?
> 
> Next up: Llianderin attempts to escape and faces the consequences. Currently planned to contain gang bang, spitroasting, and double penetration. Let me know if you have any more ideas/scenarios/kinks you would like to see me explore. Not promising I will pick them up – I have a very long list of kinks I won’t touch – but I welcome suggestions.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who have been kudo-ing and commenting, I appreciate all you lovely perverted souls. See you soon!


End file.
